


Demoman

by ScribbleScribe (Sauny)



Series: Sniper in various relationships [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst without a happy ending, Anxiety, I haven't written canon characters in a while excuse me, Impulses, M/M, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Sniper is twitchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauny/pseuds/ScribbleScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe if he gets things done then he'll stop having that dream</p><p>---------<br/>I haven't written canon characters in a while so just go ahead and skip this, it's a thing for a friend.<br/>Really it's not very good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demoman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chupi](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Chupi).



Dreams weren’t kind to him. They varied in their cruelty, sometimes vacant spaces of deep emptiness and then wide expanses of death; where death couldn’t be cured by a machine. Dreams were what made his rifle weigh more each day, made each step seem twice as hard as he ran from one maniac to another.

Dreams were what had led him here, on top of a man’s chest instead of focusing on his so called ‘professionalism’. He grumbled, constantly, and wondered exactly how many chores he could have gotten done in the time it took to get to where he was. 

“Stop squirmin’, yer gonna give me bruises.”

He stilled, blinking at the thick patch of chest hair his nose was buried in. The arms winding their way around his waist made him feel no better, more a cage made of flesh than a comfort.

He twisted out of the hold, getting off his one-eyed teammate and climbing down from the bunk with a grunt. He tried to slow his breathing, failed, and settled on grabbing his kukri and sharpening it.

“Lad.” Tavish rolled over, looking down from his place with a frown, “Wot are ye doin’?”

“Whatsit look like?” He flipped the knife over; muttering in little breaths the demoman was sure weren’t actual words.

“Looks like yer a barmy idiot doin’ chores in yer underwear.”

The sniper paused for only a second, checking himself, before shrugging. Tavish watched, noting the involuntary twitches of his hands and the unsteadiness that never cropped up in battle. He turned over, chalking the behaviour up to the sniper’s personality and falling into a deep slumber.

The gunman waited, listening to the demoman’s breathing. When it had evened out he stood, putting the knife down and pulling on a pair of pants. He had things he needed to get done, hadn’t got done because of the heated activities the other man had asked for, and no more time could be wasted. He still needed to sort out his room on-base, clean the mess the pyro had surely made in the kitchen the moment they were left alone, make sure no one had touched his nest…

He shut the door behind him with no hesitation, already feeling less jumpy as he got moving. He had things to do so his performance wouldn’t be hindered tomorrow. Maybe he’d even manage to stop having the same damn dream about Tavish stabbing him in his sleep.


End file.
